Nympheas

Nymphéas


You wanted to linger in the Montmartre
where the shops were full 
of colorful Arab textiles,
I wanted to take the train to Giverny
to see the water lilies.

The shopping was a distraction for you,
the nymphaea a hope for us.
The Saint-Lazare platform mirrored
the distance of our disappointments.

At Monet’s garden we watched the light
play hide and seek among the lily pads,

yet the pond reflected only itself
within an upside down sky,
its colors sinking
into a drowning sunset.

After a while you began to cry.

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